


The Devil in the West Wing

by LylooJoo



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006), The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Politics, Drama, F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28023606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LylooJoo/pseuds/LylooJoo
Summary: Andrea Sachs was just looking for a humble job at the White House; she didn't ask to be thrown into this mess.A One-Shot in which DWP characters were inserted into a scene from The West Wing, with different results.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly & Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 17
Kudos: 110





	The Devil in the West Wing

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue – 1952

Andy didn’t know what she had expected after talking to Mr. Bolle, but it wasn’t this. She had only applied to be a maid, after all. Sure, it was the White House, and that made everything a little more… complicated. It would mean certain things would take longer, be a little different. She had to admit, though, she thought that an interview for a White House maid would be more straight-forward.

She hadn’t expected, for instance, that she would be redirected to three different locations within the building and talk to as many different secretaries before being guided to this very important-looking room in the West Wing with a giant oval wooden table in the middle and a big painting of Theodore Roosevelt on the wall, then left there to feel very out of place by herself.

After sitting for what felt like centuries but was actually only ten minutes according to her watch, Andy felt like a zoo animal trapped in the wrong enclosure. Or maybe more like a squirrel that had gotten itself stuck in the lion enclosure. Andy watched men in suits frantically but confidently run back and forth through the glass interior wall of the room, no doubt doing very important things for the country. She sat with her back to them, glancing behind her occasionally, afraid that at any moment they would break through the glass and surround her with disapproving frowns.

There was no way she was supposed to be there. In fact, she was probably in the way. Or she was about to get in the way of something soon. What if she accidentally overheard something she wasn’t supposed to and the Secret Service had to take her down? Maybe she should save them the trouble and just leave.

She was considering making a run for it when a red-headed woman in a pencil skirt and blazer clipped in, moving with arresting grace and speed. She looked a little frayed around the edges, Andy noticed, as if she had had a rough day, but was otherwise immaculate.

“Andrea Sachs?” She eyed Andy up and down with a frown. Andy gulped.

“Yes, that’s me. I prefer Andy. I mean, everybody calls me Andy,” Andy stood from her seat at the table and extended her hand. The woman took it and gave her a strained smile.

“I’m Mrs. Emily Charlton, the President’s personal secretary. I’ve been appointed to interview you.”

Andy balked. What? Personal secretary of the President? What was going on? Mrs. Charlton seemed to catch whatever facial expression she was making, and raised an eyebrow.

“You knew you were being interviewed today at the White House, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, but -”

“Let’s get started then. Take a seat.”

Andy obediently sat down. Mrs. Charlton sat across from her and started thumbing through her application. “All of the candidates have already received extensive background checks, of course. All have ample commendations. But you especially have been chosen,” she said, putting down the application, leaning back in her chair and absentmindedly lighting a cigarette. “Now it is my job to determine if the President will like you or not.”

Andrea thought that maybe she hadn’t gotten up this morning; maybe she was still in bed, fast asleep, and had accidentally taken over someone else’s body instead of waking. “Um, the-the President? Like me?”

“Obviously. Do you expect her to tolerate being aided by someone she doesn’t like?”

“I’m sorry,” said Andy, mind spinning. “There must be a mistake. I applied for a maid position – “

“And now you’re interviewing for personal aide to the President. I had Mr. Henley on the lookout for new arrivals. We’ve been needing one for a while after the last debacle,” she rolled her eyes, took a drag, and blew out a puff of smoke. “The whole Cabinet was there when that silly little boy let Patricia take a whiz on the French ambassador. POTUS was livid. Anyway, I’ve been filling in as best I can meantime, and I have to say it’s been quite the stressful experience,” she flipped her hair as if to say, ‘yet I prevail’. “With midterms coming along we’ll need all hands on deck. We’ll need the best if we’re going to take down Donagall. You understand?”

No, Andy didn’t understand. Not at all.

“Did you say personal aide? To the President?” Andy asked.

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“The President of the United States?”

“No, the President of Cuba,” she deadpanned, which Andy thought was rather unwarranted. How was she supposed to know what was going on?

“So what you’re telling me,” said Andy carefully, “is that I came in to interview for a house maid position, and now I’m interviewing for personal aide to the President, whether I like it or not?”

“Look, she does catch on,” Mrs. Charlton said with a wicked smile, which meant Andy was right. That was bad. Very bad. Andy needed a job right now. The social workers would be coming tomorrow…

“I must be honest with you, Ms. Sachs,” Mrs. Charlton continued on, “this is not an easy place to work. The hours are demanding, could be twenty hour shifts with no rest, and the work itself is just as bad. The President expects nothing less than perfection. She needs individuals of significant comportment and cleverness to attend her, or she becomes very annoyed. Mr. Henley said you struck him as intelligent. Are you intelligent, Ms. Sachs?”

“I - “ stuttered Andy, “Well, I don’t - “

A woman whom Andrea guessed was a secretary poked her head into the office. “Mrs. Charlton, ma’am? POTUS wants you.”

“I’ll be right there, Mrs. Blake. Could you get me a water while you’re up?”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Charlton stood and wiped down her skirt. “Excuse me, Ms. Sachs. I’ll be right back.” She strolled out of the room.

Andy took a deep breath. Okay, so this was unexpected, sure. But not completely hopeless yet. A job was a job, after all. And if she was being interviewed, that meant she still had a chance, right? Maybe not a very high chance, but a chance, nonetheless. She just had to stay cool. Be confident. Be… not herself. What could she possibly say to the President’s personal assistant that would sound even remotely impressive? Gee, how do you sound impressive for a job when you don’t even know what the job entails? For all she knew she would be a horrible personal aide, whatever that was. This was crazy. How on earth did she get herself in this mess-

She heard the door open behind her only a minute later, and her heart rate spiked. Oh no. Mrs. Charlton had found out she was interviewing the wrong person and now they were kicking her out. But Mrs. Charlton just stuck her head through the door and said, “Miss Sachs? Follow me.”

Andy stood up on wobbly legs and followed her, she knew not where. Mrs. Charlton didn’t say anything else to her; she hardly seemed as if she wanted Andy to follow her at all, she moved at such a brisk pace Andy had a hard time keeping up. Andy hardly got a glance at the ornate halls and American decor, but wouldn’t have been able to pay much attention to them anyway, she was in so much distress.

“Through here,” said Mrs. Charlton finally, and opened two regal wooden doors. Andy walked through in a dream-like state, right into the Oval Office. She gasped, eyes roaming over the room, then her breath caught in an even bigger, overwhelming gasp when she saw who was standing beside the desk.

Andrea had always felt she had known the President of the United States, to an extent. She had heard speeches. She had watched the inauguration speech on her television at home. She had seen pictures, lots and lots of pictures. On billboards, in magazines, in newspapers. She knew the President’s low voice from the radio and remembered hearing it blare from the speakers at school. She remembered her father proudly voting for Senator Miranda Priestly and talking on and on about her along with everybody else. Priestly would turn the country around. Priestly would prevent nuclear war. Priestly’s judges would finally declare racial segregation unconstitutional and pass the bill that would ban segregation in schools across the country. President Priestly, President Priestly, President Priestly. She had heard so much about President Priestly that she felt she knew her. She was an American, after all, and Miranda Priestly was the leader of America.

Andy knew Priestly was a woman so brimming with charisma and natural grace that everyone was drawn to her – even those who despised her would be silenced in her presence. Andy knew that somehow, she had managed to establish herself as a symbol of protection even to the men in America, some journalist for the New York Times had famously written that it was as if Lady Liberty herself had stepped down from her pedestal and strode into the White House.

But now, with President Miranda Priestly standing there in the Oval Office so naturally, as if she was born to live there, looking so incredibly _Presidential_ in a woolen gray dress-suit pinned with the American flag, and of course sporting that iconic white bob haircut that all middle-aged women in America now mimicked, her face upturned, considering Andy with a slightly raised eyebrow, Andy realized she had been utterly arrogant to assume she knew the President at all.

Andy looked behind her. The door had been shut behind her and Mrs. Charlton was nowhere to be seen. She was trapped in a room with the President of the United States. In the Oval Office, no less. She wondered if she was about to cry.

She turned back to the President and managed a quick glance around the room. She had seen pictures of the office before, but it was still grander than she had expected. Everything looked expensive and old, as if every piece of furniture and decoration was humming with history. She noted, with despair, that there didn’t seem to be any less historic pieces of furniture for her to lean on, because she felt she might need to do that soon. Why was she here? She definitely should not be here-

“Ms. Andrea Sachs, I assume?” Though she spoke barely above a whisper, President Miranda Priestly’s voice was strong and clear. It possessed a natural, quiet authority. Andy’s whole body erupted in goosebumps. That same voice she had heard on the radio -

“Um, uh, yes…” said Andy. “Yes ma’am.” What was the protocol for meeting the Leader of the Free World? A bow? A handshake? “Hello” and a wave? Were you supposed to say something? Her mom had taught her manners but had not at all prepared her for this situation, which, she thought, was very important and should be taught in all the public schools.

“I’m Miranda Priestly,” said Miranda Priestly, extremely unnecessarily. She walked towards Andy and held out her hand. Andy stared at it. Then, as if she were taking hold of an active bomb, Andy slowly reached out and took the offered hand, double-checking she was using the correct hand because that seemed like a mistake she could make right now.

Huh. The President’s hand was soft. And smooth. She had almost expected it to be calloused from the strain of holding the country above her head for so long. She squeezed it. The President squeezed back, then let go.

“I hope you don’t mind my taking over the interview, Andrea. Mrs. Charlton is needed elsewhere at the moment.” Andy was too flabbergasted to respond. Honestly, she did mind. She had lots of mindful thoughts that she dare not speak aloud, mostly about how very wrong and unfair this whole situation was. Somehow, Mrs. Charlton had more important things to do at this moment than the President? That seemed unlikely.

Madam President moved even more gracefully than Mrs. Charlton had, pulling out her massive leather wheely-chair and sitting at the Resolute desk. Then she picked up Andrea’s application and started flipping through it, placing silver reading glasses on her nose. Andrea aggressively wished there were no spelling errors. She felt kind of light-headed and tingly; she thought her hands were shaking but she was too scared to look down and check. She wondered if she was going to pass out.

“Please,” said the Commander-in-Chief, gesturing toward an ornate chair facing the desk. Andy looked down at her erect body and realized she was still standing. She tripped over to the offered chair and sat down. Facing the President across the Resolute desk, she felt like her face was on fire.

Then Andy realized she couldn’t let this continue. If she was being interviewed by the President there had obviously been a grave mix-up. There was no way she was qualified for this. “Ma-ma-madam President,” she gasped. “I’m sorry, but I think there’s a mistake. I’m not qualified – I mean, I applied for a maid position – “

“You needn’t worry about that. This job pays much better than the maid,” said the President, as if that was the only objection at hand. She flipped over a page of Andy’s application and scanned it.

“You have not been to college,” said the President suddenly, and Andy realized her interview had started.

Andy swallowed something that felt like a ball of yarn. “No - no ma’am. I was accepted into Yale out of high school, but I didn’t go.”

“Why?” A strange question, Andy thought, given that most women didn’t. What woman was interested in attending higher education when her husband could do it for her? The President – herself a Harvard graduate - was rather an odd duck. She supposed, it had worked out for her rather well, though, so who was she to judge?

Andy had the same excuse most other women had. “I was going to get married and settle down.”

The President’s eyes darted down to her naked left ring finger.

“The engagement was cancelled after a year,” Andy clarified.

If the President found that peculiar, she didn’t show any indication of it. She continued, “So then where are you staying? With your parents?”

“I live with my brother, ma’am, in a brown house here in D.C. I - I don’t have parents.”

The President tweaked her eyebrows. Andy felt that she should elaborate.

“M- my father died in the war and my mother died of a heart condition three months ago.”

“Who is your guardian?” asked the President coolly, apparently unaffected.

“My uncle was supposed to be my brother’s guardian, but he was… unfit. He sent money for a while, but stopped about a month ago.”

“How old is your brother?”

“Eight, ma’am.”

The President flipped over another page of her application. “It says here you worked as a housekeeper at a hotel until a week ago.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did it pay well?

Andy hesitated. “Enough to get by.”

“But you wanted more.”

“Ye- well, uh – no, ma’am, that wasn’t all of – I didn’t really need any more - ”

“Then what was the reason?”

Andy opened her mouth to try and form a reply, but the President continued without waiting for an answer, “Do you care for your brother?”

“Very much, ma’am,” she said sincerely. If there was one person in the world Andy loved most, it was her brother Gabe.

“He depends on you for an income now due to your uncle’s neglect.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That must be very difficult for you, what with the house and his schooling.”

“It is, ma’am.”

“So may I ask, with so much at stake, why you left your job as a housekeeper?”

Andy felt her neck burning under her shirt collar, and readjusted it. She suddenly felt like she was at court. President Priestly _had_ been an attorney, she remembered. “I got that job after my mother died. I didn’t think I had much choice, the owner offered me a job right away and I thought it would be stupid not to take it. But I - um - I - “ she took a deep breath to steady herself. “It was not what I expected. It was not a place that suited me.”

“It didn’t suit you,” the President repeated. “And now you are jobless. Now you may lose your brother to the system. Because the job didn’t suit you.”

Andy winced. The social workers were coming tomorrow. She should have known they would come. She couldn’t let them put him in the system…

“I just - I - I couldn’t work there anymore.” She tried to meet the President’s eyes, she knew people were supposed to make eye contact during interviews, but she couldn’t; her eyes were trapped watching her fingers clench each other. She managed to say, in a rush, hoping it would get her somewhere, anywhere away from this subject, “I had very different views than the manager on some points that I considered… irreconcilable. But I took my work very seriously. And I want to keep my brother. I really do. That’s why I need this job.”

The President pressed on mercilessly. “And what are these strong beliefs you hold, that supersede even your responsibilities to your brother?”

What could Andy say? She could never come out and say it. It would be… Andy didn’t know what it would be, but she knew it would be bad. Very bad. Andy whispered, starting with a half-truth, “Common decency. He didn’t treat me well at all.”

The President said, “Your boss was not decent with you.”

Andy jolted up, head snapping to meet the President’s face. Had the President just implied… It hadn’t been a question. The President’s countenance had changed, if Andy had not been sitting so close she wouldn’t have noticed; her shoulders leaned forward a fraction, eyes alert and darting across Andy’s face. Andy knew she knew. She had observed the truth on Andy’s face as if her thoughts were written on her cheeks.

Andy swallowed thickly. Would it be horribly unpatriotic to puke on the Oval Office floor? Forget about her earlier embarrassment, now her face literally felt like it was on fire, it burned so painfully. “No,” she admitted. “He wasn’t.”

“He asked you to do more than housekeeping. He paid you more for… special services. Did he ask you to attend to his client base, as well?”

“How – how did you - “ Andy blubbered, feeling tears building up.

“How indeed,” said the President, face stonelike. Andy was reminded of one of those white Roman busts.

“Please – I had to – he didn’t just pay – he threatened me – said he would fire me – he said his clients would pay so much for me. I didn’t think I had any other options. It wasn’t for very long - ” Andy heard her voice filling with desperation, felt tears filling her eyes. This was not happening. No, this couldn’t be happening - “Please don’t tell them. Please don’t tell the social workers. They’re coming tomorrow. He needs me. Gabe needs me.”

The President looked at her for a long moment. “There was no indication of this misconduct in your CIA files.” She sounded accusatory, like she was trying to pin something on Andy, but how could it be Andy’s fault the CIA apparently didn’t do their job very well? Then the President said, voice firm yet barely above a whisper, “You understand what it would mean for me if this was to be revealed to the public in the event of your employment? If my personal aide – which, as the name implies, is a rather personal position – was to be revealed to have done what you did?”

Andy cringed in agony, as if the President had threatened to slap her. To think that she could have hurt President Priestly… could have been solely responsible for injuring her reputation… what had she been thinking? Why had she listened to Mr. Bolle? Why had he been so confident she could obtain a position here? “I - I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I thought I was applying for a maid position – I thought no one would have known - “

“Who screened your application?”

What? Andy’s muddled brain tried to catch up. “I – I don’t know – “ Andy thought she remembered Mrs. Charlton mentioning someone – what was his name – “I can’t remember his name. Mrs. Charlton mentioned someone, started with an H I think. Mr. H – ”

“Mr. Henley,” said the President, “I appointed Mr. Henley to screen incoming applicants.”

“Yes,” said Andy, relieved. “That’s what Mrs. Charlton said – that’s who he was – Mr. Henley – I remember her saying that name – “

“I happen to know,” said the President in a very even tone, “that Mr. Henley has not been at work for many days due to a bad case of influenza, and is therefore incapable of screening anyone’s application.”

There was a pregnant pause as they looked at each other. Andy felt as if she had been caught in a terrible, terrible act, though she had no idea what she had done wrong. Did the President think she was trying to double-cross her? “I didn’t know. I was just brought here – I swear I didn’t know – “

“Call in Mrs. Charlton, please,” said the President, ignoring her, looking over Andy’s shoulder.

A man who had been standing by the door fetched Mrs. Charlton, and Andy – who thought she had reached some kind of embarrassment quota – only felt more embarrassed that someone had apparently been watching the whole time. They waited. Andy didn’t look at the President, but at her shoes on the floor, wholly unable to meet her eyes. Mrs. Charlton arrived a couple – supremely uncomfortable – minutes later.

“Madam President, you called me?” Mrs. Charlton asked as she opened the door, a trace of fear in her voice. She seemed to immediately sense something was wrong.

“Who screened this application?” the President asked again, holding up said document. Her voice gave away nothing.

“Mr. Henley,” Mrs. Charlton replied, speaking very carefully.

“Did Mr. Henley tell you this himself?”

“No, Madam President. Mr. Bolle, one of the Deputy Directors of Intergovernmental Affairs, did. He said Mr. Henley gave it to him and told him to pass it on.”

“Mr. Bolle. He claimed to have received it directly from Mr. Henley?”

“Yes, Madam President.”

“I never want to see Mr. Bolle again. His employment has been terminated. He will leave my office today. He will receive no notice.”

If Mrs. Charlton was surprised, she did a good job of hiding it. “Yes, Madam President.”

“That’s all.”

Mrs. Charlton left the room.

The President stood. “I am sorry to put you in an uncomfortable position, Ms. Sachs. We believed you would be well-suited for this post. I apologize for wasting your time.” The President said it with diplomatic finality. Andy understood the interview was over. She felt her world shattering around her. Of all people, the President to find out…

But Andy knew that name… Mr. Bolle –

Andy wanted to get out as quickly as possible. She wanted to run somewhere far, far away and cry until she had dissolved herself into a mess on the ground. But they were coming tomorrow, she had to do something, anything.

“I recognize that name. Mr. Bolle, I mean,” said Andy, heart pounding viciously. “Was he a young, tall man with a handlebar moustache?”

“Yes,” said the President slowly. Andy had no idea what to make of her neutral tone.

“He was one of my – one of my – he came for multiple visits – he paid me the best – we started a sort of acquaintance –“

“I’m sorry, Ms. Sachs.” And though the President’s tone wasn’t exactly emotional, Andy got the impression she meant it. She saw something burning deep in the President’s eyes. Maybe… anger?

“He was the one who suggested that I apply for a maid position here. I would have never have thought to – but he said I had a chance.”

“I’m sure he worked to make sure you did.”

Andy realized then the reason for this strange interview had merely been to satisfy a hunch. The President thought someone in her offices was scheming against her, and had in fact been correct. Andy had merely been a pawn in a very strange game that was far above her head. Boy, the lengths people would go… just for some bad press… it sounded exhausting. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be the President and have to deal with things like that every day, people trying to tear you down. And that wasn’t even taking into account the fact she had to run a country.

Then something struck her, not fully realized, but developing…

Andy had already been laid bare; this woman knew her darkest secret, and it had wrought a sort of fearlessness in Andy. What did she have to lose now? When Andy continued, she heard her voice steadying and ringing out clear, as if it didn’t belong to her. “I might have made a very bad mistake.” The President raised an eyebrow. She knew that, she had peeled off Andy’s skin herself. “I know I have no right to be here, in this building. But I have a proposal.”

The President looked at her for a moment, then, to Andy’s shock, slowly sat back down. “Yes?”

Andy paused to catch her breath, surprised she had gotten this far, that the President hadn’t just thrown her out immediately. “Mr. Bolle worked for someone. He wasn’t a lone wolf. I remember him mentioning a name, and he had an interesting conversation with someone on the telephone, though I didn’t understand what he was saying at the time, but I have a good memory.”

The President didn’t say anything, just continued looking at her intently. As Andy thought about the conversation, a few parts of it struck her, and she began to realize what he had meant, what he was really saying. She tried to fuse the pieces of conversation she had heard into something coherent on the spot, but it was hard with the President looking at her like that.

“He was talking to a man named Jerry, whom I now realize must be Jerry Sprits, Donagall’s campaign manager. He said that he had found an ideal candidate to tear the President apart. He said when the candidate was no longer useful, he would reveal the scandal. I thought he had been talking about someone else at the time, but now I realize the candidate was me. I don’t think Mr. Bolle just wanted to give you bad press, ma’am. He figured out I had been accepted into Yale and that I was a desperate orphan; he knew that would help me get my foot in the door. And he also knew I would be able to find out pertinent information about you and unknowingly play spy, which is why he started a – relationship – with me. But, so long as Bolle stays quiet about the scandal, I can feed him false information, which he will feed to your opponents. I can be your spy instead.” Andy sucked in a breath, screeching to a halt. She had said all of that very quickly, and had hardly known what she was saying while she was saying it. Perhaps it was a terrible idea, perhaps she hadn’t thought it all the way through, perhaps she was missing something, but it was her last chance. The President looked at her for a long moment, tapping her pen against her lip. Andy clenched her hands, feeling her whole face blazing now.

She felt bashful as she concluded very quietly, “If you want to use me, I’m yours.”

“Madam President,” said a male voice, making Andy jump. A bald white man in glasses and a sharp suit strode forward from behind her. She hadn’t noticed him walk in. “May I interrupt? I have details on Puerto Rico that I wish to discuss.”

President Priestly held out her hand and the bald man walked over and placed a folder in it. When Andy met his eyes he surreptitiously winked at her, to her bafflement, before turning back to the President.

“You may go now, Ms. Sachs,” said President Priestly, without looking at her.

“Oh,” said Andy. Now she knew what it felt like to be rejected by the President. Maybe one day she would tell her grandchildren. “Okay.”

Andy felt herself stand up and walk towards the door in a daze. “The pro-independence revolts have really picked up speed, and I think if we consider the long-term – “

Andy shut the door, then ducked her head as she made her way through the crowd, ashamed of even showing her face. She made her way down the hall, this time taking a good look at the décor, knowing she’d never have a chance to go to the White House again. Not that she wanted to. She hoped she never met the President ever again, and was glad that it was extremely unlikely. She walked through the hall listlessly, not really having any idea where she was going, but at this point if the Secret Service wanted to throw her out –

“Ms. Sachs! Ms. Sachs come back, please!”

Andy spun around. Mrs. Charlton was clipping towards her, looking miffed.

“Did you have to run?” she gasped once she had reached Andy.

“Sorry,” said Andy.

“Alright. Alright,” said Mrs. Charlton, collecting herself. “You’ll need to be here tomorrow at six to fill in the necessary paperwork. Then I’ll show you around.”

“Sorry?” said Andy.

“I said be here at six,” Mrs. Charlton repeated sharply.

“You – I – I was hired?”

Mrs. Charlton closed her eyes as if in silent prayer. “No, I just wanted a fun chat with you at six in the morning. Honestly.”

“For the personal aide position?”

“Yes. God knows why.”

Andrea couldn’t even be bothered by Mrs. Charlton’s impropriety, she was too busy being hit with ambivalent feelings of elation and dread. They were such strong feelings together they kind of made her want to puke again.

‘Oh,” said Andy.

“Don’t be late. In fact, be early. The President does not tolerate tardiness.”

With that, Mrs. Charlton walked off.

End.


End file.
